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B E A U T Y.
EAUTY! thou wild fantastic ape,
Who dost in every country change thy shape ! Here black, there brown, here tawny, and there white; Thou flatterer ! which comply'st with every light!
Thou Babel, which confound'st the eye With unintelligible variety!
Who haft no certain What, nor Where; But vary'st still, and doft thyself declare
Inconstant, as thy she-profeffors are.
Beauty ! Love's scene and masquerade,
Which light or base we find, when we
For, though thy being be but show,
Beauty! thou active, passive ill !
Beauty! whose flames but meteors are,
Who dar'ft not thine own home descry, Pretending to dwell richly in the eye, When thou, alas ! doft in the fancy lie.
Beauty! whose conquests still are made O'er hearts by cowards kept, or else betray'd ; Weak victor! who thyself destroy'd must be When Sickness storms, or Time besieges thee !
Thou 'unwholesome thaw to frozen age ! Thou strong wine, which youth's fever dost enrage!
Thou tyrant, which leav'st no man free ! Thou subtle thief, from whom nought safe can be ! Thou murderer, which hast kill'd, and devil, which
would'st damn me!
S men in Greenland left beheld the sun
From their horizon run,
And thought upon the sad half-year Of cold and darkness they must fuffer there : So on my parting mistress did I look;
With such swoln eyes my farewell took ;
Ah, my fair star! said I; Ah, those blest lands to which bright Thou doft ily! In vain the men of learning comfort me,
And say I 'm in a warm degree ;
Say what they please, I say and swear 'Tis beyond eighty' at least, if you 're not here. It is, it is; I tremble with the frost,
And know that I the day have lost;
And those wild things which men they call, I find to be but bears or foxes all.
Return, return, gay planet of mine East, !
Of all that shines thou much the beft!
And, as thou now descend'st to sea, More fair and fresh rise up from thence to me! Thou, who in many a propriety,
So truly art the sun to me,
Add one more likeness (which I'm sure you can) And let me and my sun beget a man!
my likeness with you, whilft 'tis fo ;
The man who did this picture draw,
If you upon this shadow smile,
And absence so much alter me,
And your bright looks awake it,
And hear it breathe a figh or two;
My rival-image will be then thought bleft,
And laugh at me as dispossest;
Wilt rather send again for me,
No, wretched heart! swell till
break. She cannot love me if she would ; And, to say truth, 'twere pity that she should.
No; to the grave thy sorrows bear ;
As silent as they will be there :
So handsomely the thing contrive,
So perish, that her killing thee
'Tis nobler much for me, that I
This will look justly, and become
The censuring world will ne'er refrain
From judging men by thunder llain.
So bold to ask her to make me,
I will not ; 'tis a milder fate
And yet this death of mine, I fear,
When, found in every other part,
For the last tempest of my death
Shall figh out that too with my breath.
Some pity and some envy me ;
Shall grace my funerals with this truth;
That feed th' eternal burnings of my heart !
Vulcan his shop has placed there,
And Cupid's forge is set-up here.
Ah, cruel God! and why to me
Gave you this curst monopoly?